


"...And when it comes..."

by FandomN00b



Series: Lost and Found: The Misadventures of Marian Hawke and Everyone She Meets [7]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Heteropaternal superfecundation, IDK but it's icky cuz it's Danarius, Implied Sexual Abuse, Lost and Found DA2 endgame canon divergence, Post-Dragon Age II, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, morning snuggles, painful flashbacks, parenting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-03-30 11:28:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13950621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomN00b/pseuds/FandomN00b
Summary: "...do not hesitate to leap."Marian Hawke, Fenris, and their lovely little family living in idyllic domestic "bliss," just before the shit hits the fan and Hawke is convinced to join the Inquisition.Note: due to some wrangling issues, this is incorrectly showing in mpreg searches...no mpreg here, sorry :(





	1. Braids

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a flash forward. Because a lot of stuff happens before we get here. Am I the only one who reads the end of a book just to be sure there's a happy ending before investing in the characters?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning snuggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Fenris tries to remember, and it kinda hurts. But he has his family there to make it better.)

\---

Hawke had been lying in bed, watching Fenris ritualistically braid their daughter’s hair for awhile in a dreamy half-awake daze as their son nuzzled against her back, resting his face square between her shoulder blades. He liked to be close to her, but not crowded in between all of them. He was a lot like his father in this regard, though Hawke certainly appreciated her own space too, now that she had children. They would eventually be too big to sneak into the bed she and Fenris shared in the wee hours of the morning like this, but even though she pretended to be annoyed by them, she wasn’t about to be the one to end their family snuggles. It was only a matter of time before she had fully convinced Fenris they had to take up Varric’s invitation to join the Inquisition and try to fix at least some of the messes they’d made, leaving this idyllic, quiet, insulated life they’d enjoyed for the past few years behind. She was already feeling a bit sentimental about it all, and she hadn’t even had her coffee yet.

Fenris’ eyes were still closed, not that he needed them. He’d done this so many times, the movements had become committed to muscle memory. It had started when Leandra was still a baby, running his fingers through her fine strawberry-blonde hair to detangle it, picking out all manner of debris whenever she’d stop exploring and sit still long enough to let him. And then, when it was long enough, twisting little braids around her crown to keep it neat and tidy for the few minutes they managed to stay without her pulling the braids apart. Hawke would’ve just cropped the girl’s hair short like hers if it’d been up to her, but Leandra wouldn’t let her mother anywhere near it with even a brush or comb, let alone a pair of scissors...or a dagger, which is what _she_ preferred.

No. This was a special thing between her and her Papa. Hawke was happy not to interfere. She and Malcolm could bond over their matching haircuts since the boy, like his mother, preferred not to have to worry about his hair at all and would get irritated and fussy as soon as it got anywhere near his eyes.

But Hawke was suddenly curious as she watched and appreciated all the intricate movements of Fenris’ fingers weaving in and out of the layers of rose gold tangles that he’d somehow managed to tame in his sleep, just like so many other mornings. Perhaps in the rush of parenting baby twins together who quickly turned into toddlers and were now full-blown children, she’d missed out on the earlier opportunity to marvel at her husband’s hair braiding skills. Surely he hadn’t just learned through having to deal with Leandra’s rat’s nest, or on his own beautiful hair, which he had grown out and also managed to keep well-tended. The ordinariness which he brought to this impressive feat suddenly struck her with an extraordinary awe.

“How did you learn to do that?” she whispered, breaking her own rule about asking questions before breakfast.

“I don’t remember,” Fenris said matter-of-factly, without opening his eyes, then resumed the low, quiet humming that was so much a part of this that Hawke only noticed he’d been doing it because he stopped to answer her, interrupting the quiet soundtrack of their morning ritual. Leandra nuzzled up closer against him as he resumed his work.

“Oh. Then it must’ve been before...”

“Yes.”

\---

He knew he was hated by the other slaves. Envied. Feared. He was partially proud of this. It came from being Danarius’ favorite. From his gifts. And his own abilities. And he wasn’t about to humble himself just to gain favor with lowly slaves. They offered him nothing, and he couldn’t afford to become...attached...to anyone, let alone another slave.

But it was lonely. On the rare occasions he was allowed to fraternize with the others, they wanted nothing to do with him. Those who were most terrified of him might try to force a smile, and if he demanded they eat with him or play Diamondback, they might do it. But it was out of fear. Fear of him, an extension of their fear of the Master. It made him powerful, and Fenris had no need for their false companionship anyway. They were all beneath him. None could match his strength. Danarius had chosen _him_ to receive the lyrium markings. Because he was different. Special. Better. Better than just a slave. He had to be. He had to believe this, to bury the loneliness, the doubts, the missing memories beneath a shaky pride in order to survive.

Some of them had mingled among themselves and reproduced. Danarius didn’t seem to mind. Not among the common household slaves anyway. He was not only a purchaser, but a renowned seller of people. Many Magisters would only purchase new slaves from his stock. And there was a well-established husbandry system of selective pairing and swapping around of those that enjoyed a special status with more favorable characteristics, like Fenris. They were guarded more carefully. Danarius had mentioned a few times that he had big plans for Fenris in this regard, but for whatever reason, probably for a number of reasons he couldn’t bear to consider, Fenris remained ambivalent about the whole ordeal, and was relieved that his Master had yet to find an ideal mate for him.

But the children who had been born from these less desirable pairings still had an opportunity to impress Danarius or some lesser Magister if someone could take care of them. Clean them up. Teach them to be pleasing to the eye at least. It might earn them a spot as a Magister’s favorite. It was certainly preferable to whatever other fate awaited them.

And the children didn’t seem to fear him as much as their parents did. They were curious. They asked about his markings, completely unaware of the physical and emotional pain they caused him or the terrifying powers they granted him. They asked what it was like to carry a big sword when he went out in public with the Master. They asked about the Master, too. Was he nice to him? Did he let him eat from the table? Was he allowed to run around and play outside? They asked about everything. They had not yet learned not to hope or dream or care about lives that could never be theirs to enjoy. And he found, over time, that it was rather nice to sit with a child nattering on about whatever they wished as he combed their hair out and braided it into intricate designs. He was good at it. Something besides being fearsome and beautiful and dangerous and favored by Danarius that he could feel proud of. He didn’t know why or how he knew how to do it. But it was...comforting. Familiar. Some of the children’s parents seemed a bit uneasy upon discovering that they had been interacting with him, but they did nothing to prevent these sessions. Either out of fear, or because at least _someone_ was tending to them.

...

Danarius had summoned him to his study. Fenris was rarely asked to enter the Magister’s private study unless it was for some kind of ‘heart-to-heart’ that usually resulted in Fenris being scolded, punished, or forced to do something he had to work especially hard not to feel awful about (which Danarius often referred to as a ‘reward’). He prepared himself to accept whatever it was this time with his usual calm, unflinching subservience.

“Fenris, when I give you an afternoon off to go mingle with the others, I don’t intend for you to spend that time braiding their filthy spawns’ hair. It’s unsanitary. And it only prepares them for disappointment. You are spoiling them.”

“Of course, Master. I just thought it might be more pleasing to you and the other Magisters who might be looking to purchase them, if their hair was well-kept. Not the disgusting tangled mess that they tend to be without my...intervention.”

Danarius chuckled. His eyes softened as he looked fondly at his favorite pet. “Oh, how surprised I still am by your lingering sweetness and naivete, my little wolf! These are not the caliber of specimens that will ever be seen outside of the slave auction. Most likely, their hair will just be shorn off when it comes time to sell them. You make their hair lovely and it will only make it harder on them when they lose it. Your kindness is actually quite cruel, you see?”

Fenris shuddered as the image of dull blades, wielded by cold, careless, yet efficient hands shearing off the hair of terrified children flashed across his mind. One of the children looked remarkably like him, except his hair was dark, nearly black, with a slight reddish hue. It was long, and someone had taken great care in braiding it. He tried to catch himself and stop from reacting to this with a violent shudder, but he was not used to being overwhelmed by any emotion so powerful he needed to physically restrain himself. He was normally quite numb to the cruel things his Master would say about the other slaves. He hoped Danarius had not noticed, but he knew very little escaped his Master’s discerning glare.

“It’s ok,” Danarius cooed, placing his hand on Fenris’ shoulder. Fenris froze. “I know you thought you were serving me by doing this.” He patted him, in what he must have assumed was a reassuring way. It burned. Fenris had to use all of his willpower to keep his markings from lighting up and to stop himself from brushing his Master’s hand away. “But I’ve actually been sending you to mingle in hopes you might... _enjoy_ yourself a little. I realize now that there is probably nothing among my common household slaves that might excite you. You spend most of your days surrounded by much finer things and people. It’s no wonder! Forgive me. I should’ve known better than to assume you could find pleasure in the company of anything so...low.”

“You...want me to...breed? With one of the other slaves?”

“You don’t need to put that much pressure on yourself just yet! I thought maybe a little practice might be good...and if you did produce any offspring, I’m sure there’d be a demand for anything that shared your genes, even if it _was_ an inferior pairing.”

Danarius smiled warmly. He liked to think of himself as a generous and kind Master.

“But eventually...yes. I have several fine pairings in mind for you as soon as the females are of child-bearing age. There is quite a demand for slaves as strong and capable and...unique as you. And several of us have theorized about the effects of your lyrium markings on the breeding process. It would be fascinating to see what we might be able to produce!”

“I...understand.” Fenris was finding it quite difficult to keep his emotions hidden. There were disappointment, fear...these were not new. He could suppress them easily. But beneath them, under the thick, protective layers of dullness he’d piled up in order to preserve himself, something he’d quickly learned to keep dormant had been ignited. A low, burning anger was threatening to break through and rise up.

“What’s wrong? Is the thought of being with a female not appetizing? I was afraid of this…”

“No. I will happily do as you command, Master.” Fenris swallowed, hoping he could push whatever was trying to break free back down below his defensive emotional padding.

“It’s ok. I, myself, prefer the company of a particular type of person, as I’m sure _you’ve_ noticed. My wife does not fit that type, in any way shape or form, but we have still managed to produce an heir to the benefit of our family and status. Don’t worry. There are things that can be done. When the time comes, we can discuss this more. In the meantime, feel free to practice on any of the others...man, woman...child, if that appeals to you. Maybe after you’ve cleaned them up a bit, you could...”

The bile was still rising in Fenris’ throat as he tried desperately to put his mind anywhere other than where his body, specifically his ears, and his shoulder, still under his Master’s grasp, currently stood. He was only half-listening, trying to dissociate enough not to hear or comprehend what Danarius was implying, but that final suggestion snapped him violently back to the horrific reality he spent so much time trying to ignore or reframe or just...survive. He had to escape this moment. Before he vomited right in Danarius’ face. Which is what the man obviously deserved, but even if he was his favorite pet, Fenris was still his slave, and he would not have tolerated such an affront.

“I understand,” he responded sharply before Danarius’ words could filter through.

“Good.”

“May I be dismissed to my quarters for the evening?”

“Not anyone else’s quarters?” The man waggled his eyebrows lasciviously. It only made Fenris’ urge to vomit stronger.

“No. I don’t feel well.” It was a calculated risk, showing any sign of weakness, but he really needed to leave. His face was beginning to turn a sickly shade of green.

“You no doubt caught something from one of those filthy welplings!”

“I’m sure just a few hours rest is all I need. I’ll be fine.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Dominus.”

\---

Fenris was staring blankly at the back of Leandra’s head, the tiniest hint of anger subsiding into relief as he closed his eyes and hummed another few notes of his morning song and continued working his fingers through her hair. He paused again in contemplation, searching for what he had to believe were happier memories even further back that were still frustratingly closed off to him.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke whispered, sensing she might have touched on something painful. She hated how clumsily she sometimes brought up his past, even after so many years together. At first, she’d just tried not to ask any questions for fear of hurting him. But he somehow always seemed to know when she was curious about something, and he told her what he could, even if it was difficult for him to talk about. He’d made peace with many of those demons through the years, and he was better than any of them at processing and managing his emotions. Still, occasionally, his eyes would glaze over or he’d get angry or irritable at the mention of something, and he’d need some time alone to make sense of his memories, or lack of them, his guilt, and his lingering pain.

He opened his eyes, looking at Hawke, the sudden gratitude in those beautiful eyes of his almost overwhelming to her. “Don’t be.” She had given him this family. These memories to replace the painful and missing ones. What should she be sorry for?

“I assume it was my mother or sister who taught me. But I used to get lots of practice on the children of Danarius’ other slaves,” he explained. She couldn’t possibly have understood how tainted those memories were, how Danarius had stolen what little comfort and human connection Fenris had found that day in his study. He stopped visiting the children. He couldn’t stop imagining Danarius’ disgusting grin and raised eyebrows. But the anger that had been re-ignited deep within him was the beginning of his slow, grueling climb back to freedom.

“That’s...so heart-breakingly sweet!” Hawke blushed, completely ignorant of this bit of darkness she’d partially helped him banish. The thought of him with a whole host of children lined up to get their hair braided nearly made her ovaries explode. If the children hadn’t been in bed with them…

“Ugh...Mama, stop bothering Papa. It’s still too early,” Leandra whined. She sounded just like her mother, who’d said the same thing to her daughter too many times to count. Then she yawned exaggeratedly and reached back to feel the braid Fenris had remarkably already finished, nuzzling even closer against him with a satisfied smirk.

Fenris blushed, too, seeing the amorous look in Hawke’s eyes, then smiled wryly at her. She rolled her eyes at their daughter and smiled back at him, grateful that in spite of all he’d been through, and all that they’d been through together, he could still be so present there with her and their children. She really hoped he’d agree to come with her and bring their whole little family to Skyhold. She didn’t want to imagine waking up in a bed alone without them, even if it was just for a few days as Varric had promised.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added another chapter, because I have zero self-control when it comes to Hawke family drama.


	2. Well, Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation, a letter, and a resolution, later that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Fenris wants a big family, maybe, someday, Maker-willing, if Hawke is up for it. Hawke is characteristically obtuse and avoidant and distracted. And Leandra is a whiny almost-four-year-old, while her twin brother, Malcolm, broods.)

\---

She’d heard him pacing back and forth in the hall for several minutes, which wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary. Fenris often took time to collect his thoughts, especially in the morning, either through meditation, or gardening, or pacing. And since the children were outside arguing in the garden, this was probably the quietest place to figure out whatever it was that was bothering him today. He stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and took a deep breath before striding over toward her.

“Marian, I’ve been thinking --”

“Fenris, when are you _not_ thinking?” Hawke didn’t even look up from the letter she was poring over at the kitchen table. She was expecting some new plan for expanding the garden or ideas for a new fence to come flooding excitedly out of him. She would nod, and encourage him to go ahead with whatever it was. There was nothing like home improvement to get Fenris both excited and anxious.

“...the twins are nearly four. We’ve somehow managed to keep them alive this long…”

“You want to send them off to live with their Aunt Aveline and Uncle Donnic in Kirkwall? Yes! I’m all for it. I’m sure their Aunt Bethany would love to see more of them, too. We can visit once a month. I don’t think anyone would remember us, but just in case, we could be real sneaky or wear disguises. It would be just often enough to miss them, but not enough to get sick of them.”

“That’s not exactly --”

“What, then?”

“Well, I’m just saying -- we have gotten pretty good at this, haven’t we?”

Hawke laughed indelicately. “Good at what, exactly?”

“Good at being a family. Raising our children. Together.”

“Just this morning our daughter ‘slipped’ and ‘fell’ into the river again after being told every day this week to stay away from it. And our son! He’s been off brooding with the cat all day, talking to himself...at least I hope he’s _just_ talking to himself. I don’t see either of us getting any ‘parent of the year’ awards anytime soon.”

“Leandra is curious and Malcolm is -- Malcolm is a thinker, a planner. Having the cat to talk things out with is probably good for him.” Hawke finally looked up at him from the letter, and her left eyebrow went up. Fenris grimaced. “You’re right. I can’t believe I just said that.”

She felt a little bad, seeing the state he was in. He’d been fretting more than she’d realized. “No, _you’re_ right, of course. He just reminds me of someone else sometimes who enjoyed the company of cats. And _that_ cat, of all the cats we could’ve ended up being suckered into taking in...”

It was, after all, her own unwelcome, reluctant sentimentality that had caused her to accept the cat that had formerly belonged to Anders, a gift from _his_ Warden-Commander, as he always referred to the Hero of Ferelden, when Nate brought the creature to them looking for someone to take care of it a few years back. Nobody really knew how old the cat was or if she was even really a cat. Nate had alluded to some mysterious 'powers' she was rumored to have. “Probably just a coincidence…” he had assured her unconvincingly.

Honestly, it wouldn’t have surprised Hawke in the least if Anders had somehow gotten himself involved with a possessed cat, or maybe Justice had put a bit of himself into the creature, too. Was that a thing that was possible? Anyhow, they had yet to see anything malicious manifest in the creature, and Malcolm had a very special bond with the cat from their first meeting, so there was no passing her off to anyone else.

Fenris smirked, which was not the reaction Hawke had expected at being reminded of who Ser Pounce had once belonged to, but she left it at that and returned her attention to the most recent letter she’d received from Varric:

He was still begging her to come out of hiding and join up with the rapidly-growing Inquisition. It seemed the red lyrium they’d unwittingly unleashed upon the world had spread rapidly and was being used by the Inquisition’s enemies for...it wasn’t really clear what they were using it for. But it didn’t sound good. And from what she’d seen of the stuff, it didn’t bode well for anyone to have more of it circulating above ground.

And then, there was the matter of who these enemies were. Varric hadn’t really named him outright, but he’d left plenty of clues about his own hunches. Wardens were disappearing. The Seeker hadn’t been able to hunt down Larius or Janeka for questioning after what had happened in the Vinmarks, but Bianca (the dwarf, not the crossbow...Varric was adamant about keeping the two straight so he always included an asterisk and a footnote and lots of evasive explanations about her whereabouts and their more recent interactions) had consulted with a mysterious Grey Warden mage who’d seemingly disappeared as well, as had a considerable amount of red lyrium he’d trusted her to look after, though he hadn’t yet told anyone from the Inquisition about it, or about Hawke’s current whereabouts, either. She hadn't heard from Carver or any of their other Warden friends in far too long, she realized. 

There’d been plenty of other rumors that had found themselves to her through several of their other friends and network of contacts besides just Varric, too: Whispered mentions of Dumat’s legacy. Tales of new cults springing up following a ‘true, living god’ calling himself the Elder One. Even people claiming they’d seen another Archdemon flying high in the skies above Thedas.

It _could_ all be a number of unfortunate coincidences. But Hawke felt a sinking feeling in her stomach that it wasn’t. This was probably going to end up being yet another failure to add to her long list of unfinished business since they’d fled Kirkwall.

She looked up to see that Fenris was still standing there, the conversation he’d meant to start having somehow gotten waylaid. He took a deep breath, and tried again. “Have you ever thought about having more?”

Hawke looked thoroughly confused. “Are we talking about cats? Or red lyrium?”

Fenris rolled his eyes at her. No. He did not mean more cats. And he certainly intended to keep his distance from any of that vile stuff. Being in the same city as it had been bad enough. It flooded his senses with the scent and taste of iron, chains...and blood. And it had reacted horribly with his own lyrium markings, burning through him and filling his head with dark thoughts he’d rather never revisit.

Hawke stared at him, trying to remember the conversation they’d been having just moments ago. Attempting to piece together what he had been trying to say. He stared back, contemplating her complete lack of awareness about what he was alluding to and what it meant.

Finally, realization hit her like an ogre sneaking up from behind. She spit out her coffee, splattering Varric’s letter, her eyes suddenly wide with shock. “You want more _kids_?!”

“It’s just that -- I think maybe...if you’re willing, of course -- I think it might be nice to have a great big family someday. It’s something I never had. And you, well...you always speak so fondly of growing up with _multiple_ siblings.”

“Fenris, there are already four of us! How many more children are you thinking?

“I don’t exactly have a number in mind. But are you really so opposed to having at least one more? You’ve mentioned it casually before, talking about ‘the next time’...and I see how you look longingly at little babies when you think no one is looking. And I just thought -- ”

“Did you make up that story about braiding slave children’s hair just to prime my womb?”

“No.”

She had maybe crossed a line. But he was the one suggesting they add more to their brood. They were already over capacity in this little cottage they’d built, originally intending it to be a temporary hideout, a refuge for her to give birth in and then figure out what was to come next for them. But there had been two babies. A whole family all at once. And they’d been sort of forced to settle into the nest they’d hastily built, reckless adventuring put on hold.

The makeshift hut became a home. They had vegetables and a garden and goats, in addition to a cat and dog, who were used to chaos, but certainly didn’t complain about the stability and peace they’d established over the past four years. And they’d even come to trust their neighbors. People in town actually knew them by name. Their friends (and _their_ friends) knew where to find them, and where a good meal and a warm, dry place to stay awaited them, even if it was only a bedroll on one of the few open spaces left on the floor.

It wasn’t for lack of resources that they’d stayed here, either. It had actually become quite comfortable. Neither Hawke nor Fenris could imagine living in another giant, empty estate again anytime soon. Some of the most miserable years of both of their lives had been spent in big, expensive houses in the ‘right’ part of town.

“Mother would never have gotten pregnant again if she’d have known she’d end up with twins. What if we get another set of them? Where in this tiny cottage do you foresee having room for one more, let alone two more? Our children are already a pain in the ass! And they are just starting to become useful...barely.”

“Marian…” he sighed, a little exasperated. He had obviously put a lot of thought into approaching this topic with her, and it was not going at all like he’d expected it to.

She stared back at him, still in half disbelief, but feeling guilty for dismissing him so quickly. “Ok, sorry, it’s just -- ”

“I know. Just, you know, think about it, maybe? All that other stuff...we can figure it out. You know we can.”

“Ok, look, maybe after we’ve wrapped up this Inquisition business that Varric’s dragged our asses into, we can talk about thinking about _maybe_ expanding. Ugh. Very literally, in my case. If it weren’t for childbirth, we could have _all_ the babies you want. You sure you aren’t a seahorse? If you could go through carrying and delivering them, it would make this much easier to stomach for me. HA! Geddit?”

He wasn’t laughing. Not even a little smile. He actually looked a bit hurt.

“Oh, c’mon! That joke wasn’t even on purpose!” But his emerald eyes were just staring back at her with that uncomfortable but irresistible intensity. She stopped trying to make him laugh.

“I didn’t realize Varric had such an influence over our family planning. And I’m not opposed to adopting, if you’d rather not go through the whole process of childbirth again.”

“I’ll just set everything right, help save the world, and then -- “

“I thought you were done trying to save the world? That’s someone else’s job now.”

“Well, if we’re to have a dozen little spawn running around, someone’s got to save the world long enough for them to grow up! And Varric seems pretty sure I’ve got some part to play in this.”

“That’s not -- wait, a dozen? Really?!” He looked suddenly hopeful, the bitterness gone for a moment. Then he waved his hand at her and growled, realizing she was teasing him again.

She smiled, in spite of his grumpiness. “No. Probably not a dozen. But we can try for more, even though I’m almost 40. And it took several years of completely irresponsible unprotected sex to have our first two.”

“MAMA!” Leandra had come running into the kitchen from the garden.

Hawke looked pointedly at Fenris. She felt like she had just sat down for the first time all morning, and she still hadn’t finished reading over Varric’s letter.

“Mama! Malcolm won’t play with me,” the little girl whined.

“And…? What’s the problem? Nobody said he has to play with you _all_ the time.” Hawke looked away and attempted, once more, to focus on the letter, a little grateful for the interruption to an otherwise very intense conversation she had been completely unprepared to have.

“He _should_ play with me, though! He’s my brother! It’s not FAIR!”

Fenris’ tone was a bit softer than Hawke’s, hoping to salvage the situation and prevent a complete tantrum. “What are you trying to play, Leandra?”

“Papa! _You_ can play with me!” Leandra’s sad whiny tone was suddenly joyous and bubbly. She bounced over to him, finally allowing her mother a chance to read over the foreboding message in peace.

“Well, yes. As a matter of fact, I can.” Fenris glanced at Hawke to see that their conversation was over, for now.

“Good! You can be the dragon, okay?”

“And who are you going to be?” He swept his daughter’s unruly amber-colored hair back out of her face, tucking pieces of it back into the braids he’d done in bed not more than a couple hours ago.

“I’m the Inquisitor! The lady in town said she just slayed a big mean dragon in the Hinterlands that was bothering people!”

Hawke looked up suddenly, the letter, again, abandoned. “You know, Leandra... _I’ve_ killed a dragon before.”

“It probably wasn’t a very big one, though, was it, Mama? Like a baby dragon? Or a kid dragon?”

Fenris stifled a laugh.

Hawke was insulted by the implication. “What’s that supposed to mean? It was plenty big enough! A Mama dragon, in fact. And she was especially ferocious because she had a whole nest of babies and eggs to protect. Your father was there, too! Ask him!”

Leandra looked at Fenris for confirmation. He nodded. “I would never like to face a dragon even half its size again. It had been living near a mine your mother took an interest in, so we had to get rid of it, I suppose, though it was unfortunate to have to end the life of such a marvelous creature.”

“It had killed, like, 50 people!” Hawke shouted at them both, defending her past decisions.

Leandra looked up disapprovingly at her mother, then back at Fenris in pity. “I won’t kill you, Papa. I promise.”

“That’s...comforting. Thank you.”

“I mean, when we’re playing dragons. You just need to listen to me. We’ll find a new place for you and all your babies to live. Okay?” She patted him on the arm, and nodded reassuringly. He appreciated the thought and the gesture.

“But I’m a dragon, Leandra. I can’t exactly be reasoned with! I will just attack you before you get a chance to explain.” He and Hawke exchanged uncomfortable glances. There was way too much subtext here to even begin to respond.

Fortunately, Leandra was still there to prevent them from lingering too long on it. “You’re talking to me now, aren't you?”

“Oh. Right. Well…” He hunched over, his head hanging down. Leandra giggled nervously in the tense silence that followed. Suddenly, he sprang toward her, his hands held up like claws, and he let out a rather convincing sound, somewhere between a scream and a roar.

Hawke watched fondly for a moment as her daughter ran shrieking back out of the cottage and Fenris chased after her. Once they were out of sight, she returned her attention to Varric’s letter. Red lyrium. Corypheus. The end of the world. Again.

Well, shit. Fenris’ babies would have to wait.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend to continue this directly from the previous little vignette, but this had been sitting in my brain and then in my pile of drafts for awhile, and, unlike the dissertation I'm writing, or the more epic story arch I have in mind for this little family, this seemed doable.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read this! This is my first ever attempt at sharing any of my fan fiction, or any fiction writing ever, even though I've written privately since childhood. I just hope someone besides me can find this moderately enjoyable...


End file.
